Oh my goodness you really are a repulsive little man. If we should ever pass in the street I certainly Wouldn’t doff my cap. It makes my stomach churn even to think we are The same species. Your utterances are toxic and deliberately Pugnacious and delivered with all of the wit and grace Of a turd. I don’t like you very much.
Oh, you saggy-bottomed baggy-jowelled loud-mouthed Orange-faced dolt With an expression like a spinster aunt Straining out a poo in a station toilet Three minutes before her train is due. You weak-willed flabby-cheeked oddly-coiffured Stumpy-legged dunderhead With a mouth like a cat’s arse, I bet you’ve got a really small knob. You red-capped Diet Cola-quaffing potty-mouthed Egotistical scare-mongering morally-bankrupt pile of Upchuck. I don’t like you very much.
You no longer need compassion to be President, apparently. Nor any sort of wisdom nor decorum, Just a feel for the simple prejudices that sound good In their repeating And an inherent inferiority complex which migh stem From your minuscule Willy And a hint of righteous indignation, The last simpering gasp of mature debate In which the ultimate insult is to accuse your enemies Of kindness And list among their number Those less fortunate, less privileged, less straight, More trans and definitely less white than yourself, What kind of thinking does this legitimise? What message does this send out to women Who have been the victims of sex predators, Or men who think it’s fine to act on such urges, What message does this send out to the casual racist You cry baby You big cry baby You white supremacist cry baby. I don’t like you very much.
You name is an old English word for fart, how apt, For thou art A rancid wind passed on to the pages of history, A stench, a gaseous build up let rip Leaving in its wake an odour of smug pomposity
Oh, you snivelling snot bag, You drivel-emitting weasel-brained rapscallion, You bulbous-cheeked odious Clay-brained tit, you crusty scab On the face of common decency, You pungent base fascism-obsessed unnecessary Foul-brained ass of a man. How I long for you to be photographed Making love to an life sized cardboard cut out version Of yourself while Elon Musk wanks in the corner How I long for that How I long for that day.
You were on TV the other nigh Speaking your usual complete and utter bollocks And I had a sudden urge to lick Oh please let me lick Let me lick the side of your Craggy orange face.
Robert Garnham 